And then it got 'Weird'
by Xavon Wrentaile
Summary: Clara and The Doctor go to see a concert by The Doctor's favorite artist. The show was great, until they went back stage. And then it got "Weird". The Doctor, Clara, "Weird" Al Yankovic, and a magic accordion. Sounds like a recipe for something.
1. Chapter 1

**And then it got "Weird"**

"What?" The Doctor demanded defensively. He was a tall man, and thin, with a shock of thick brown hair. He gave off an aura of being younger than he looked, amused, amazed, and a bit confused by everything around him. He wore dark dress pants, currently grey, a light maroon dress shirt, a tweed jacket, with elbow patches, and a sharp, red bow tie.

"I _know_," Clara answered, not releasing him from her death glare. She was a full head shorter than The Doctor, with a willowy build, though she was not lacking in curves. She had bright, attentive brown eyes, and short chocolate hair. Her lips were full, and her nose a cute button above them. She had been called beautiful, but she was as humble about her appearance as she was proud of her athletic and mental accomplishments. The young Briton currently wore blue jean Capris, a cyan tank top, and a black half-jacket.

They were standing in the entryway of the home were Clara lived and worked as a nanny, when she wasn't off gallivanting across time and space with The Doctor. She had heard the familiar sound of the TARDIS landing, and had confronted him as soon as he breezed through the door.

"I might have forgotten most of it," she continued, more gently but still smug, "But I know what you've kept from all the others. I held on to it, in the back of my mind. Your deepest... darkest... guiltiest... little secret."

She stepped forward with each adjective, driving the Time Lord into the corner. He tried to reach for the knob, hoping to retreat. But he would have been opening the door into himself, and would have had to get past her. She had him right where she wanted him.

"And I've got the means, _if_ you can get us there," she suddenly grinned, whipping out a pair of printed pages. His eyes quickly scanned the contents, and he tried to put on a indifferent front, even as the twinkle in his eyes gave him away.

"Well, since you went to all the trouble," he agreed, his apparent disinterest completely unconvincing.

* * *

"...by the way, if one day you happen to wake up and find yourself in an existential quandary, full of loathing and self-doubt and wracked with the pain and isolation of your pitiful meaningless existence, at least you can take a small bit of comfort in knowing that somewhere out there in this crazy ol' mixed-up universe of ours, there's still a little place... "

Clara glanced over at The Doctor, who continued to sing along in perfect rhythm, though not quite perfect pitch. He was as out of breath and hoarse as she had ever heard him, which was saying something considering the amount of running they did, and the amount of talking he did. But, she supposed, after two hours of near constant singing or yelling, he was entitled. She was no stranger to the artist's music, and had even downloaded a few of his newer songs to make sure she was ready for the concert. Despite that, she had been tripped up by a few of the concert only songs or embellishments to the released versions of the tunes. But The Doctor kept up with every uncommon element as if he had seen them a hundred times before. As she thought that, she began looking around for any other familiar faces.

"Jim West," the singer spun to point at the guitar player

"Steve Jay," the bassist nodded a put out a quick riff at the acknowledgment.

"Ruben Valtierra," the keyboardist waved as his name was announced.

"Jon 'Bermuda' Schwartz," the first member of his band sketched a bow.

"Thank you, Minnesota. GOOD NIGHT!"

The stage went black, even as the crowd continued to applaud and cheer. Eventually the noise decreased, the fans knowing that he almost never did more than the one encore they had already received. The audience began to shuffle out, but rather than head to the exits, The Doctor and Clara pushed through the throng, towards the stage.

"How did you manage to get back-stage passes?" the Time Lord prompted quietly, not wanting to rub it in the faces of the other fans.

"I talked to a friend of yours, Kate Stewart," she answered glibly, "And she called in a favor the CIA owed her. The CIA might not have much of a sense of humor, but they do have a sense of honor, so they agreed to lay off him in return for a couple of VIP passes."

"Right, the Miley Cyrus song," The Doctor mused thoughtfully. When they reached the front of the theater, Clara showed the burly security guard the special passes, and flashed him her best smile for good measure. He did not look impressed by her pearly whites, but after studying the laminated cards carefully, he stepped to the side. The Doctor was practically skipping as they walked past the roadies and technicians, to where the band was putting away their instruments.

"Mr. Yankovic, it is truly an honor," The Doctor gushed, grabbing the parody master's hand and shaking it vigorously, "I've been a huge fan ever since March of '82. Well, technically I've been a fan since you were in grammar school, thanks to the Proxima Delta 'Before They Are Stars' radio show."

"Is that so?" Al regarded the strange being before him with a combination of exhausted acceptance and cautious amusement. Clara assumed he was used to dealing with fans who made outrageous claims, and had no way of knowing what The Doctor was saying was probably true. Especially given the fact that The Doctor did not look old enough to have seen a concert in the early Eighties.

"Yes," The Doctor confirmed, "The Deltans were never able to master time travel, but they did find a way to collect radio waves from the future, and used them to find the next big thing decades before they recorded their first songs. Of course after some of their own people never even became singers due to the interference, they limited it to signals from other races. Oh, before I forget, if I could trouble you for an autograph?"

He reached into his suit coat and pulled out a broad, thin book that should have been readily visible under the close fitting fabric. Clara glanced at the cover, and was surprised to read it was "My New Teacher and Me!" by Al Yankovic. The singer took the tome and a marker The Doctor retrieved with an appreciative smile.

"Who should I make it out to?" Al asked.

"I'm sorry, where are my manners. I am The Doctor, and this is Clara."

"The Doct..." Al paused in his writing, and a spark lit his eyes, "Not _the_ The Doctor? The guy who saved the Earth when the Daleks took it to the other side of the universe? And fixed things after everyone else turned into to that crazy blonde guy? And when the stars vanished, and everyone thought they were just a myth..."

The Doctor had tugged his lapels with a smug grin at the first exploit Al noted. But at the second listed adventure, the Time Lord frowned thoughtfully. And then he began to stare at Yankovic more intently as the singer mentioned the events surrounding the Pandorica.

"That's right," The Doctor said carefully, "But how do..."

"Man that's great," Al started shaking The Doctor's hand again, "I've been trying to find a way to meet you since that whole 'Master' thing. It's like meeting Superman, but skinnier and with snappier clothes..."

Al was cut off by a cry of pain from the security guard, various shouts of surprise and fear from the hired hands around, and even the crashed of some dropped equipment. Clara and The Doctor both looked back instinctively, to see what appeared to be a bipedal rhinoceros charging towards them. It wore high-tech black armor, and carried a large energy rifle, which it pointed at Al.

"Al Yan-ko-vich," it rasped, "Surrendor the Vancian Matrix or be dis-inte-grated."

"YankoVIC," The Doctor shouted at the alien, "There is no 'h'!"

"He hates it when people add an 'h'," he told Clara more calmly.

"I think he does it just to annoy me," Al noted with a hint of amusement in place of the ire or surprise the time traveler was expecting. And The Doctor noted he had picked up his accordion again.

"Well, it was nice to meet you Doctor," the singer announced, be for glancing to his band-mates and saying, "And I'll see you guys in Des Moines."

Bermuda gave a small wave as Al played a quick chord on his squeezebox and vanished.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Genius in France**

The Doctor slammed open the door to the TARDIS a little harder than he intended to, still staring intently at his sonic screwdriver. Clara followed quickly after him, sealing the entrance to the Time Lord ship behind her.

"What was all that?" she asked, both out of curiosity, and because she knew that sometimes talking would help him remember something or figure something out, "Did a rhino just attack 'Weird Al', and did he escape using a magic accordion?"

"It's not a rhinoceros, it's an alien, a Judoon," he explained, holding his sonic in one hand while he tapped on the TARDIS controls with the other, "They are a military species; most of them work for the Shadow Proclamation, but since she wasn't she wasn't spouting off ordinance numbers, I'm guessing she was a mercenary."

"She?" Clara noted in surprise, remembering the singer had called the alien male.

"Yes, she," The Doctor sounded annoyed, "Not every species has their females go around hanging out mammary glands for everyone to gape at."

"And the Shadow Proclamation?" the young woman allowed herself to be diverted from her original topic, "What's that?"

"The closest analogy would be a cross between Interpol and the Federation from Star Trek," he answered, calming slightly thanks to her distraction, "Police that work against criminals that cross interstellar borders."

She nodded for a moment, and then returned the recent events, "So what about that 'Vancian Matrix'? Do you think that's Al's magical accordion?"

"It's not magic," he chided her, "There's no such thing as... Anyway, it's not magic. It's some kind of alien device, and its got an energy signature I can track."

He waved his screwdriver as he said that.

"And since I've never heard of a Vancian Matrix before," he admitted petulantly, "I can only assume that it's some kind of alien machine that has somehow become part of his accordion. Hopefully we will find out more when we ask Al."

"We're going after him?" Clara asked hopefully.

"Of course." The Doctor flipped a lever on the control panel, and the TARDIS began to hum as she moved into the Vortex. The Time Lord's demeanor returned to a hint of his previous dark mood as he stared at the central column.

"You knew this was going to happen," he accused the ship, "That's why you got us there on the first try, and on time."

The TARDIS, wisely, did not answer. But an instant later, she began to wheeze again as she landed.

"That didn't take long," Clara noted, "Where or when are we?"

"Same time, same planet," he answered, hurrying out the door.

"But different continent," he added as she followed him out, seeing a certain world famous four-sided needle spire only a few dozen feet in front of the TARDIS.

"The Eiffel Tower?" she sounded surprised, "Paris? Al came here?"

"Apparently," the Time Lord sounded nonplussed, and began scanning area with his sonic again, "Now we just have to figure out where in the city he is..."

"Uhh, Doctor?" Clara said in a tone of voice that told him he was missing something obvious again. He stopped waving the screwdriver, and looked where she pointed. It was a small cafe, with a growing crowd of extremely excited French people around one of the tables.

"Probably a good place to start," he conceded. A few strides of his long legs brought him to the edge of the throng, where he began to deftly weave through the Parisians. Clara kept close behind, lest she get lost or simply fail to get through the horde. She wondered if it was just skill that let him weave his way through the crowd, or if it was some sort of technology or psychic power. Whatever the means, The Doctor brought them to the center, where the inner most circle of fans were keeping a polite distance from a single table. Al Yankovic sat in one of the four chairs, and his instrument occupied a second. The singer sipped a coffee, and had a croissant waiting.

"Doc, Clara," Al exclaimed in pleasant surprise, "Good to see you again. How long has it been?"

"No longer for us than for you," The Doctor struggled to stay serious.

"Aren't you making a bit of a scene?" Clara asked.

"Not intentionally," Al shrugged, "But they love me here. What can I say..."

"Yes, yes, _A Genius in France_," The Doctor interrupted, "Now, about what happened back in Minnesota..."

"Are these 'people' bothering you, sir?" a well dressed waiter had slipped through the onlookers with the same skill as The Doctor, and was now staring down his nose at Clara. The Doctor was well enough dressed, and frankly to tall for the waiter to look down on; not that he did not try for a second. So he focused on the young woman. Al looked blankly at the server, who recognized his faux pas and repeated the question in heavily accented English. Clara realized the first time he spoke, the TARDIS had translated for her and The Doctor, but not Al.

"No, these are my friends," Yankovic told the Parisians, "I was waiting for them."

"You were?" Clara asked.

"Well, after that little skit, I guessed The Doctor would have some questions for me," Al answered, "And I thought I could use that to wrangle an invitation into the blue box."

"I suppose it is better than talking out in the open," the Time Lord conceded, "especially if the Judoon is still looking for you."

"So I take that to mean you will not be ordering anything?" the waiter interjected politely.

"Sorry, things to do, rampaging aliens to avoid," The Doctor told him.

"I hope this covers it," Al threw down two twenty dollar bills as he stood and collected his accordion. The crowd parted for them, but a number of them gave The Doctor and Clara dark looks for stealing their idol. Once the Parisians had cleared a path, Al was able to see the TARDIS. It was all the singer could do not to run to the police box. The Doctor unlocked her and opened the door with a bit of a flourish, gesturing for Yankovic to step inside. Al paused, and then stepped inside almost reverently, looking around in awe.

"It really is twenty pounds of ship in a five pound box," the singer exclaimed. The Doctor had tensed at the first three words, but almost tripped at the unexpected end of the sentence. Clara covered up a chuckle at the Time Lord's expense.

"Right, now then," the alien in tweed tried to recover, "You're inside the TARDIS, so how about you tell us what is going on?"

"Weeeell, it started with a meteor shower about four years ago..." Al began.


End file.
